Picture Perfect

PICTURE PERFECT. Twinkling lights, staining the wallpaper like stars breaking through the building. She held my hand while she whispered she ‘had something for me,’ and my heartbeat sped up like an engine roaring until I couldn’t breathe. 

“Waylon?” You shake me awake. I sit up so fast I nearly slam our heads together, so you place a hand on my shoulder with worry in your changing eyes. “You okay?” 

“Fine,” I breathe. 

“Merry Christmas.” 

Bitter taste on my tongue. I smile. “Merry Christmas.” 

We had moved through the house with the chemistry of high school sweethearts. I’d made the pancakes, she cooked the bacon—though she added olive oil into the pan, insisting it needed it. Their mother, Vanny, set the table. Vanny had a look on their face that I’d never seen from my own mother, never gotten the privilege. 

“You’re burning the bacon.” 

I frowned at the table, staring down at my plate. I’d already eaten my bacon. 

“Waylon.” 

“What?” I asked in confusion. 

“You’re burning the bacon!” You laugh and nudge me out of the way. 

I blink as the world snaps up around me like a portable diorama. “Shit,” I snap. “Sorry!” 

You flip them and give them a little shake, smiling at me under the kitchen’s yellow light. “No worries. Wanna go wake up Henry?” 

I had swallowed. “They’re not up yet?”

“No,” Vanny had said casually. “But they’ll be excited, I’m sure. It’s okay, you can wake them up.” 

I padded down the hallway. Fist raised, it hung in place for minutes before the softest knock sounded on the door. I had forced myself then to knock harder, and turned the knob. 

“Zariah?” I called shakily. “Are you awake?”

“Hmm?” 

“Breakfast.” I find my voice and take in a breath. “Breakfast is ready.” 

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.” Henry sits up. “Have my parents gotten here yet?” 

When I’m back in the kitchen, my brain is a sorting machine, sliding packages south here and north there, a few down on Main Street. You pull me into your arms and the conveyor belts stop. 

“Is everything okay?” You ask. 

“Fine,” I promise. “Just… it’s hard.” 

You kiss me softly, and I close my eyes so I can kiss you back. Her lips on mine had been quiet, firm, like a secret I couldn’t tell. Yours are an open declaration. 

“I love you,” she had said. 

I blink the tears from my eyes. “I love you, too.”

You hold me until I can feel myself gaining ground again. I plate our food—disoriented for a moment, certain we’ve already eaten—and when Henry and their parents are here, we all eat. Silverware clangs and soft laughter carry, and though the ground is dry it’s the first white Christmas I’ve ever had. 

“Present time!” Henry’s mother, Lily, transitions herself from the table to the wheelchair with Henry’s father there in case she slips. “Ready?” 

We sit on the ground, littered around the living room and there was less space than I remembered there being. Henry’s dad passes gifts around. Mine has snowmen on them. 

What kind of wrapping paper did my ex-roommates use? Plain brown paper, classic and vintage? Or winter themed, or maybe completely out of season like birthday paper or some kid show? I can’t remember. 

“Waylon,” Lily says softly. “It’s your turn.”

“Oh, it is?” I grab a corner and tear. 

“You’re gonna like it,” you insisted. “But you have to wait.” 

I hesitate. “Shouldn’t I wait?” 

Lily frowns. “Why’s that?” 

I don’t have an answer. So I finish tearing the paper and grin at the box, a new headset. 

“Thank you so much,” I gush, and the excitement and love is just beneath all the pain, just barely out of reach. 

The present was passed to her—in a bag, as I didn’t have the energy to wrap it. She stared down at it before giving a little shrug and peeking inside. 

“Thanks.” She glanced at me. “Where’d you get it?”

“Uh,” I fumbled. Trying to recall. 

I couldn’t. 

Later, after the presents are opened and the food is eaten, we sit around watching movies. You put your arm around me, so I look over to see what you want, only to find you laughing at the T.V. You rub my shoulder until I lean against you, only to kiss my head and squeeze me, focus still on the movie. 

After Vanny had left, we all sat in the living room pretending the tension wasn’t there. 

“I have something to say,” Zariah had announced. “Do not wake me up on Christmas. That’s one of my only days off, I sleep in. You should know that.” 

I wrung my hands. “You didn’t tell me that.”

The scoff rung in my ears like the aftermath of a gunshot. “Come on, Waylon. Don’t act stupid.” 

“‘Act,’” she said under her breath with an amused smile. She was looking at me. 

Did she know I heard her? Did she know I knew exactly how she saw me, the stray she took pity on and rescued day after day? Did she know I didn’t see an issue with it? 

“I’m serious,” I said, standing. “You never told me that! Either way, Vanny asked me to wake you up.”

“Then tell them no?” He rolled his eyes. “Do you not know how to say no?”

“It’s Christmas,” I tried weakly. “Stop.” 

She sighed. “Why can’t you ever take responsibility? Just apologize for waking him up so we can move on.” 

“Waylon?” 

“I’m sorry,” I said, because the sorting machine was broken and presents were flying in every random cart, and I just wanted it to be over. “I’m sorry.”

You pull me into your arms. I cry into your shoulder. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I ruined it,” I say. “We were supposed to have a good Christmas and I ruined it.” 

“Hey,” you say sharply. “You are having a panic attack. No one’s blaming you for that. We just want to help.”

I look around. Lily, Henry’s dad, Henry, and you. You stare at me with a look I’ve never seen before. 

I couldn’t name it. 

“He’s been very stuck in his head today,” Lily says. 

Henry nods. “I’ve noticed. What have you been thinking about?”

I looked down. She stood on the other side of the open doorway, baby gate between us. 

“Merry Christmas,” she said and kissed my forehead. “See you in the morning.” 

She turned to leave. 

I let her. 

“Them,” I admit. “My ex-roommates.” 

“It’s been months,” Henry’s dad says in confusion. 

“It’s trauma, Dad,” Henry says patiently. “Takes longer than a few months.” 

“I know what to do.” You rush out of the room. 

Exposed and abandoned, I wrap my arms around myself. Henry sits next to me but doesn’t touch me, offers me a smile and a nod. I understand. 

You come back with a wrapped box and my eyes widen. “What?”

“What?” You stop and frown. “It’s your gift.” 

You told me you had a gift. 

You meant it. 

Handing it to me, you replace Henry and wrap your arms around me. I take the lid off the little box and stare. Tears gather, and drip onto the metal, sliding into the velvet box. 

I pick it up. 

“So you don’t need me around to leave the house,” you say. “You can lock the door and have a way back inside.” 

I look at you. Behind you, the window is frosted over but I can barely catch the first drop of snow, landing on the concrete just to melt and land again. I look around at my family, tears rushing down my face but they’re not mad, not annoyed, not frustrated. 

My heartbeat slows like a decrescendo. Twinkling lights, bouncing off the walls like freshly-bloomed flowers. Lily, Henry’s dad, Henry, you, and I. 

Picture perfect.